


The Lost Boy

by lazarusthefirst



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Halloween, M/M, Mentions of past abuse, Nothing serious, Recreational Marijuana, except when Jean gets serious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-05 19:22:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16373540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazarusthefirst/pseuds/lazarusthefirst
Summary: Halloween in the real world was, from his own careful study in an under-the-covers google search, a commercialised holiday aimed primarily at children and happy college kids. Jean was neither a child nor happy, and dismissed it as something not relevant to his life. He thought, in his innocence, that he could avoid it like he did everything else.





	The Lost Boy

**Author's Note:**

> I genuinely typed out all hallows (adam and st)eve and left it as the title for like five minutes. It's another 2am fic, I can't be blamed

As USC began to gear up for Halloween, Jean realised that his ideas of being scared of something were very different to what other people liked to come up with. Halloween in the real world was, from his own careful study in an under-the-covers google search, a commercialised holiday aimed primarily at children and happy college kids. Jean was neither a child nor happy, and dismissed it as something not relevant to his life. He thought, in his innocence, that he could avoid it like he did everything else. 

The pumpkins appeared first. They perched on peoples doorsteps, as though left behind when their owner was bringing in the groceries from the car. 

Then came the cobwebs. The wind ripped down all but the most secure webs, rendering the whole exercise largely pointless. The webs caught on trash cans and fences, and around Jean’s feet. Ghosts, bats, and assorted themed paraphernalia - glorified trash - followed. The only thing unnerving about them was people's enthusiastic attempts to be spooked by them.  

‘We're carving pumpkins today,’ Jeremy announced.  

Jean looked up, half-interested. ‘To eat?’

'No, it's a Halloween thing -'

Jean returned to his work and did his best to ignore Jeremy's sigh of disappointment. He'd been trying for months to coax Jean into team activities. Jean's standard response had grown from "if it doesn't involve exy, it's pointless" to just shutting up and letting Jeremy fling himself against the brick wall of his silence.  

And if Jeremy got bruised, well, that was his fault.  

The pumpkins emerged a day or so later. The Trojans had carved weird, Picasso-like faces into them. There were also some slogans and rude messages. Those pumpkins got pushed to the back of the group photo; Jeremy curated the Trojans Facebook group with an iron fist of censure and parental guidance.  

'Those are the only good ones,' Jean said, just to be difficult.  

'Great, I'll tell that to coach when our group gets flagged for inappropriate content by one of the little league moms,' Jeremy replied without looking up from the screen. 

Jean felt a faint stir of amusement. The only time Jeremy was remotely interesting was when Jean bothered him.

The ugly, rotting pumpkins were all over campus. Every time Jean saw one it made him frown. And, of course, everyone else was having fun with them. He even saw a group of tiny kids being shepherded to kindergarten all dressed up as little orange blobs with green hats. They all looked happy. Everyone looked happy. Meanwhile,  Jean tripped over a cluster of leering pumpkins and had to fight the urge to drop kick them all into the street. 

'We’re doing an escape room this Thursday night,' Jeremy informed him at breakfast. 'You wanna join?'

‘No,’ said Jean automatically, just because he could and it felt good. Then, ‘What's that? Who’s we?’

Jeremy gave a brief explanation of an escape room, and named out a list of his nearest and dearest Trojan buddies. ‘And you, if you want,’ he added. 

At least he hadn’t named anyone Jean didn’t know. Jeremy knew almost everyone on campus, it seemed like. 

Jean did a quick calculation of how much homework and study and practise he could do before he was wishing for death as a distraction. ‘Fine.’

‘Don’t strain yourself,’ said Jeremy, with a grin. He showed all his teeth when he grinned. It was an easy, flexible thing, that took no effort at all on Jeremy’s part. Smiling was his default. Sometimes that enraged Jean. Other times, it did the opposite. 

Mostly Jean just showed up to these “team bonding” things and endured them in silence. But the escape room was a little different in that it caused a war between Jean’s deep aversion to communicating with his teammates, and his profound annoyance of their one-track monkey brains. 

‘How did you find that?’ Alvarez asked, astonished, looking at the big rusty key Jean dropped on the table before them.

‘If you don’t get it then I’m not going to explain it to you,’ Jean said, turning away so they couldn’t see he was pleased with himself. 

‘He just guessed,’ Jeremy said.

‘I did not,’ Jean retorted, turning back quickly. ‘The UV light clue said we had to unlock a secret garden - garden, plant, the key was in the flower pot.’

A chorus of _ahhhh_ ’s. Jeremy grinned, and Jean felt tricked. 

‘Jean, you’re definitely coming with us when we do the Einstein room,’ Alvarez said. ‘You’re good at math, and I heard that one needs math.’

Jean stomped away, grinding his teeth.

After they had “escaped” (one of the quickest groups ever! apparently) and had taken group photo to prove it, they went for celebratory food and drink. Jean only stayed with them because he was hungry. The others often teased him about needing 5000 calories a day, or so they said, because of his constant snacking. Jean never bothered mentioning the periodic starvation during his teen years that had caused his stomach to shrink to the point where he couldn’t eat enough calories to constitute a full meal in one sitting. It was easier to be teased than pitied. 

For self-defence, he sat next to Jeremy, who left him alone more than the others did. It wasn’t inattention - more like a weird respect. Jean didn’t know what he’d done to earn it. 

Jean had never eaten fast food before USC. He could fill a book with stuff he hadn’t done before USC, but burgers and fries was his favourite. He knew they were empty calories and that Kevin Day would slit him throat to groin if he caught him, but that in itself was its own form of satisfaction. He didn’t drink the soda, though.

‘Tell me again what he said,’ Alvarez grinned, passing Jean his ice water. Jean glowered at her, and Jeremy bit down a grin.

‘Stop going on about that,’ Jean demanded.

‘He said they hurt his mouth,’ chorused like three different assholes from down the table. Jean kept his eyes on his food so he wouldn’t be tempted to trip anyone up on the way home.

Jeremy nudged him. ‘My sister doesn’t like soda either,’ he said. ‘Never has. Calls them “fizzies”.’

The restaurant was decorated for Halloween. Jean couldn’t escape it; to his disgust it was starting to fade into the background for him. There was a goddamn grinning pumpkin on the table and bats floating above him that had slithered against his head when he'd stepped into the booth. The escape room hadn’t been Halloween themed (he’d had to surreptitiously look up what a “Sherlock Holmes” was on his phone before going in, and still didn’t quite get it) but the whole establishment had been festooned with supposedly spooky shit. If it wasn’t actually scary, and it wasn’t for kids, then what was the point? There was nothing scary about a cartoon ghost with googly eyes. 

‘Does your food suck?’ Jeremy asked him.

Jean frowned. Apart from the abject health concerns it may cause him in the future, this burger had done nothing wrong in its life. ‘No?’

Jeremy swirled a fry around in too much ketchup. ‘You’re making faces at it. Or is it the decorations?’

Jeremy was perceptive. It was uncomfortable. 

‘It’s just a bunch of crap,’ Jean muttered. He took a big bite out of his burger to avoid any further conversation. 

‘I guess scary stuff isn’t that appealing when you’ve been through a lot of real life scary stuff,’ Jeremy added. His conversational tone was low, like he was trying to keep the others out of it. 

Jean paused, lowering the burger. ‘What would you know about it?’ he asked carefully, not sure if he was angry or not. 

‘I don’t know anything,’ Jeremy said, in that same mild tone. ‘Just what I see.’

What in the fuck did _that_ mean? 

‘You’re giving me indigestion,’ Jean snapped. 

Jean got caught on a fake cobweb on the way out. Jeremy picked it gently off his sweater and didn’t make any comment about Jean’s shudder. 

Whatever about the rest of Halloween, Jean had at least believed that the trick or treating he’d seen depicted in his limited exposure to popular culture was for kids and kids alone. When Jeremy announced that he was organising a dorm-wide trick or treating evening, Jean thought he was fucking with him.

‘So … what?’ he demanded, trying to grapple with the concept. ‘You’re all going to dress up and go around to each others rooms, that you visit every day anyway, and ask them for candy that you aren’t allowed eat?’

Jeremy grinned. ‘I’m sure _some_ candy will be consumed. But it’s gonna be, like, adult trick or treating. Laila’s making alcopops. Someone will surely have pot brownies.’

Jean wanted to tear his hair out. ‘But you can’t _have_ those things!’

But his logic fell on deaf ears. Everyone was wildly enthused at the idea, and suddenly costume making became a thing. Halloween had now invaded Jean’s personal space.

‘Would you like to get dressed up? Or would you prefer to just bite my head off?’ 

Jean tried to not glare, but it was difficult when the words coming out of Jeremy’s mouth were so infuriating. 

‘What would you suggest I wear?’ he asked, voice tight. There was black and orange crepe paper on _his_ side of the desk. He balled it up in his fist and flung it away. 

Jeremy was difficult to bait. He just smiled, like he was considering the question. 

‘Give him the devil ears,’ Alvarez said from the other side of the room. 

Jeremy lowered his gaze to the pile of things Jean had taken for decorations, but were in fact headbands with various shapes attached. 

‘Nah,’ he said, quietly, nudging the pile delicately with his fingers. His hands were tanned from the sun, the bones knobbly and prominent. Jean thought he had very careful hands. They could grip a racquet with strength, but they could also be gentle. 

‘What then?’ he asked, watching Jeremy’s face in case he got the wrong idea.

Jeremy made a little thinking noise, fingers straying over the ears. 

‘The cat ears,’ he said, finally. The others made noises of amusement, but Jeremy looked serious. 

Jean stared at the black headband and soft black velvet triangles attached. He opened his mouth to say it was stupid, but the words came out silent. 

‘Why?’ he croaked instead. 

Jeremy brushed soft velvet with his fingertips before tentatively reaching up to slide the headband behind Jean’s ears. 

‘Because you’re softer than you look,’ he murmured. He looked up at Jean through his eyelashes, and something in Jean went quiet. 

Laila was very good at art. Or makeup. It was one of the two, Jean wasn’t sure which. She came over that evening armed with about a thousand pots and palettes and brushes and painted everyones faces. Jean hadn’t known what to expect, but Laila turned Alvarez’s smooth brown skin and round cheeks into a grinning skull so realistic that Jean took a step back. 

‘Jesus,’ he breathed.

Alvarez winked. ‘It’s Sara,’ she said. Jean was too impressed to tell her to shut up. 

He didn’t recognise most of the other costumes. Alvarez was a full skeleton and kind of alarming, but the others that came and went throughout the evening were a collection of characters that clearly everyone else knew from television or the internet - mysterious realms for Jean. But then Jeremy walked in wearing _tights_ and Jean almost lost his mind. 

‘Who are you?’ he demanded.

The others made loud complaints about Jean never knowing anything or what the fuck ever, but Jeremy told them all to stop. 

‘I’m Peter Pan,’ he said. Jean didn’t know who or what that was, but the words hardly registered. Jeremy had … legs …? Where had they come from? 

‘I, uh.’ Jean cleared his throat. ‘Ok.’

Jeremy also had a child’s bow and arrow to go with his green ensemble and little hat. Jean sat quietly for a while and let Laila paint whiskers on his cheeks. 

He even tagged along for the trick or treating portion of the evening. He had initially been the one to volunteer to stay at the room to give out candy, but it was generally agreed that this would not be fun for anyone. 

So he stood at the back or to the side while Jeremy and the others tore around the dorms, gleefully greeting their friends and trading all sorts of crap. There were tiny vodka bottles and jelly babies and walnuts and fruit, and the promised pot brownies were handed over secretively, wrapped in napkins. The Trojans at least had the good grace not to eat these. Jean was passed handfuls of sticky sweets and nuts, as well as slices of pizza and red cups of alcohol and even the end of a joint, once they’d moved on to general population.

‘This is what happens when you leave the athlete’s dorm,’ he said, glowering at Jeremy. 

He only got a smile and an eyeroll for his troubles. ‘Chill out,’ Jeremy told him, plucking the joint from his fingers. ‘I’ll trade it for more vodka at Emily and Jonah’s room.’

It was quite possible that Jeremy knew everyone at USC. But he did get them more vodka, so Jean stopped complaining. 

‘Do you want a brownie?’ Jeremy asked him.

Jean’s fingers slipped opening another tiny bottle. ‘Go to hell,’ he said, abruptly tired. 

Jeremy clapped his back. ‘That’s the Halloween spirit, pal.’

Back at their own dorm, all was chaos. Laila and Alvarez had gotten devastatingly drunk and decorated everything with the remainder of the black and orange crepe paper. Alvarez’s facepaint was completely fucked. Most of it appeared to be on Laila’s face and neck. And everywhere else.

‘If I find any of that in my bed you’ll be running laps all week,’ Jeremy threatened. It was hard to be threatening in tights but he made a decent go of it. Jean weaved around behind him, idly pulling on some of the terrible streamers above their door. People trickled in and out around him in various states of undress and smeared makeup. None of them lived here. Jean began to suspect one of Jeremy’s dreaded “after parties”. 

He went for the rest of the vodka while Jeremy had the lesbians distracted. There was a good fifth left. More than enough for Jean at this point. 

‘That’s mine,’ Jeremy pointed out.

‘You don’t drink,’ Jean retorted. 

‘I do so.’

‘Beer doesn’t count.’

There were a tangle of people on his bedroom floor playing twister. Jean stepped over them, taking slow sips from the bottle. The little pinch behind his ears reminded him of the other ears. He should have ripped them off, as Halloween was surely over now, or at least the bit he had to participate in. 

‘Moreau, you’re on my hair,’ complained Tori from the floor.

‘You’re on my floor,’ Jean replied, reaching for his top drawer. He had seven cigarettes left. At least six. More than five but less than ten, for sure. Jean only smoked when he was drunk, and he only drank when he was totally out of his comfort zone, which led to hazy memories at best. 

The drawer was empty. Jean’s hand clenched on the bottleneck.

Back in the living area, the television was on and all the decorations were on the floor. There was black and white face paint on every fucking surface. Jean knew which of them would get freaked out by it first and clean it up in a rage, and it sure wouldn’t be Jeremy.

‘Can I talk to you?’ he demanded, pointed a black-smeared finger at Jeremy. He was sitting on their studying table, on _Jean’s_ side, swinging his green legs and sipping from a red cup. His little green hat was askew. Jean didn’t know if he wanted to fix it or smack it off his head. 

Laila and Alvarez had regained control of themselves, somewhat, and “ooohed” dramatically.

‘Jeremy’s in trouble.’

‘What did you do this time, Jeremy?’

‘Can he even get mad at you? Like, is he allowed?’

Connor snorted. ‘Who invited the new kid?’

The gentle ribbing forced on the new kid gave Jean the space he needed to collar Jeremy and haul him into the kitchen.

‘You went through my stuff,’ he hissed. 

Jeremy was a little tipsy; he wobbled back from Jean with a funny look on his face.

‘I did not,’ he said, defensively. There was glitter on his cheeks. This, out of all things, was actually not surprising. Jeremy liked glitter. 

‘What did you lose, ok? I’ll help you find it.’

Jean bit his lip and glared, but didn’t respond. He couldn’t. They didn’t talk about this shit.

Jeremy waited, and when Jean stayed silent a little smile curved his mouth. ‘What are you missing, huh?’

Motherfucker. 

Jeremy kept smiling, and Jean balled his hands into fists and tried not to punch the wall.

‘You know, all that anger isn’t good for you,’ Jeremy remarked. ‘Especially when you’re drunk. You should really let it all out.’

Don’t fucking tempt me, thought Jean. ‘Fuck you.’

‘It’s easy to take that from a guy with kitten whiskers drawn on his cheeks.’

‘I’m not drunk.’

‘Uh huh, you are. You know how I know you’re drunk? Because you’re out here looking for your cigarettes.’

Jean was drunk, this was true. Being drunk made him feel loose and disconnected, and full of too many memories of Kevin crying on his shoulder and being screamed at and beaten, et fucking cetera.

Jean shook his head, trying to clear the memories. A cigarette would help. Fuck those guys in the other room, blaring _Monster Mash_  because it was Halloween and none of them had ever felt fear in their lives, yet somehow they tried to link the two anyways. 

‘Just give them to me,’ he muttered, feeling ashamed and hating everyone for it.

Jeremy considered him, then shook his head. ‘They’re bad for you, Jean,’ he said, trying to be kind.

‘I just want one.’

‘I don’t mean for your body - though they obviously suck for your lungs, too,’ Jeremy said. ‘You smoke when you’re sad.’

‘I thought you said I smoke when I’m drunk,’ Jean challenged, hearing too late how he was slurring his words.

Jeremy smiled. It was kind of a sad smile. ‘Yeah, you do that too,’ he said. 

Jean stared at him incredulously, then gave up with a sigh. He leaned back against the counter, resigning himself to a night of the spins and the flutter of anxiety in his chest, and then eventual nightmares. He couldn’t even blame Jeremy. Smoking would just give him a bad taste in his mouth too. Everything else was his own damn fault.

‘If it’s an oral fixation, I do have something you might like.’

Jean’s head snapped up. ‘The fuck?’

Jeremy grinned, and reached into his pocket. ‘Ok, maybe I could have phrased that better.’

He held up the little brown joint from before. It was barely half a finger in length. A half-smoked stub of a thing with someone else’s saliva baked into the brown paper. Jean’s lip curled. 

‘Didn’t expect this from you,’ he said. ‘Coach would take the captaincy away from you.’

Jeremy snorted. ‘He would not. I don’t smoke, Jean. He knows that.’ He shrugged. ‘But it’s Halloween. This _came_ to us.’

Jean rolled his eyes and looked away.

‘I’m not smoking with those assholes,’ he said. Something nervous jumped in Jean’s chest as he said it. 

Jeremy glanced into the other room, where a tinkling, ominous music was starting to play from the TV.

‘Don’t worry,’ he said. He looked back at Jean, eyes twinkling. ‘I wouldn’t waste this on them.’

Tipsy or not, Jean hadn’t seen this side to Jeremy before. It looked like he was actually going to break a rule. Fascinating. Jean had to document this, for science.

‘Come on then,’ he said, carelessly. ‘Bathroom?’

Jeremy wrinkled his nose. ‘I think someone threw up in there.’ 

Jean sighed. ‘I’ll kill that fucking bitch Alvarez, I swear to god - ‘

‘You’re so violent.’

‘That’s _my_ bathroom.’

‘Yeah, but you don’t have to call her that - ‘

‘It’s just words,’ Jean said, dismissively. ‘Violence would be going out there and kicking her in the head.’

Jeremy winced. ‘Ok, you really need to chill. Come on.’

The other were watching some horrible film and cheering drunkly at it. The face paint situation had become worse. The couch was ruined. Jean gritted his teeth.

‘Don’t say a word,’ Jeremy reminded him. He put a hand on Jean’s arm. His touch was light, but firm. ‘Just let them be.’

Jean followed him out of the room and down through the halls still banging with music and noise and the smell of spilled beer. It grew worse as they left the athlete’s section. Jean shrank back from the press of bodies around the doors, bumping into Jeremy once or twice. 

One girl gave a whoop when she spotted Jeremy. 'Peter!' she called, joyfully. She was hanging out of somebody’s room, wearing a blue nightdress and ringlets in her red hair. 

Jeremy laughed. ‘Wendy!’ he called back, throwing open his arms. The girl ran down the hallway and leapt into Jeremy’s arms. He swung her around, both of them shouting something about believing in fairies and clapping your hands. Then she kissed him soundly on the mouth.

Jean stepped back, frowning, as Jeremy kissed her back. A few people laughed and cheered. Some were taking photos. It didn’t seem scandalous. Jean didn’t like it.

Finally, the girl let him go. She gave him a goofy smile and a pat on the cheek, and then wobbled back to her friends. They patted her on the back and handed her a drink.

Jeremy had a very silly grin on his face. ‘That was cool,’ he said.

‘Do you know her?’ Jean asked, frown deepening. 

Jeremy nodded. ‘That was my good friend, Wendy,’ he said, solemnly.

Jean knew that, once again, he was missing something. It did nothing for his mood.

No one else tried to make out with either of them on their way out. By the time they got downstairs, Jean was feeling a little less furious. The fresh air was good, he decided. And it was very warm, even though it was late. That was good too. 

‘California suits you,’ Jeremy commented, watching him roll his shoulders. ‘You actually like this devil heat.’ 

Jean didn't reply. Anything was better than the black stone halls he’d wilted under in the Nest. ‘Are we doing this or not?’

Jeremy smiled in amusement. ‘You make it sound so illicit.’ 

‘it’s drugs.’

‘I mean, it’s not really,’ Jeremy said, sagely. ‘It’s gonna be legal here soon, you know.’

Jean didn’t know what to say to that. He wasn’t even sure why he was arguing. It just seemed to be his default, these days. 

‘Come on, you crank,’ Jeremy said, tugging on his sleeve. ‘Lets go break some rules.’

The lawns were well-kept, and technically off limits to gatherings. That didn’t stop gaggles of students from tramping across them on their way to one party or another.

They wove between the tall palm trees and neat shrubbery, passing a few others in similar states. There was more than one girl or boy with smeared face paint. They were all in twos, also. Jean realised suddenly that it looked like they were sneaking off together. 

Jeremy, oblivious, walked carelessly ahead of him. Jean hung back a little, so that no one would get the wrong idea. He cared about this, for some reason. 

Jeremy threw a glance over his shoulder. ‘What are you doing back there?’

Jean shoved his hands in his pockets. ‘Nothing.’

Jeremy snorted. ‘Is it the tights? I had to commit to the costume, ok? Didn’t realise it would be such a distraction.’

Jean spluttered indignantly, but couldn’t manage an actual word in his own defence.

‘You know, they’re not as bad as I thought they’d be,’ Jeremy went on. ‘Restrictive up top, but sort of freeing as well. I’d recommend we all give them a try, as men, and usher in a new era of equality.’

‘No one is stopping you from wearing tights,’ Jean forced out, in a stunning display of brain malfunction.

Jeremy grinned over his shoulder again. ‘I have your approval, then?’

Jean couldn’t take much more of this. ‘Lets just - have we gone far enough yet?’

Jeremy stopped and looked around him speculatively. ‘Oh, yeah, I guess so,’ he said. ‘I kinda forgot. I was just walking.’

Jean rolled his eyes. ‘Have you got a light?’

Jeremy grinned. He slung the silly little children’s bow from around his body, revealing the small plastic tube where the arrows were kept. ‘I have _your_ light.’

He shook the tube, tossing the arrows, and produced the black lighter Jean had been keeping in his drawer. He’d bought it at the airport when he’d first landed in California. For some reason, he wasn’t annoyed by this little theft.

‘I don’t have your cigarettes on me,’ Jeremy warned, before he could ask. ‘Didn’t want to keep them both in the same place in case you found them.’

‘I would have just bought a new lighter,’ Jean pointed out.

‘Like you would have just walked to a gas station and bought new cigarettes?’ Jeremy asked, watching him carefully. 

Jean opened his mouth, then closed it again. 

Jeremy produced the joint and held it between his fingers. With a careful flick of the lighter, he lit the end and cupped his hand around the flame until it caught properly. He inhaled deeply, and coughed a little. ‘Shit, that’s strong,’ he said. ‘Oh man. Here.’

He held it out for Jean, who took it dubiously. 

‘It’s just like a cigarette,’ Jeremy said softly. ‘Just don’t inhale so deep.’

Jean would be the judge of that. The paper felt wet between his fingers - definitely not like a cigarette. Strike one. He put it to his lips, and felt how Jeremy’s had been there before his. 

It tasted awful, and burned his throat. With a valiant effort, Jean didn’t cough. 

‘Whatever,’ he forced out, lungs burning.

Jeremy grinned widely. 

They sat down on the ground, backs against the palm trees. They sat at an angle so that they could pass it back and forth easily, and their feet bumped together in the middle. 

‘So how’s your first Halloween going so far?’ Jeremy asked, after taking a deep pull on the joint. Jean, who had been watching him do it, didn’t hear the question. 

‘Fine,’ he replied, mechanically. ‘What?’

Jeremy snorted. ‘Are you having fun?’ he repeated, handing it over.

Jean rolled his eyes. ‘Oh yeah, can’t believe I’ve been missing out all these years,’ he replied, sarcastically. The joint wasn’t having any effect so far, which probably meant it was shit weed (not that Jean would know the difference) but it was nice to be sitting down in the warmth and not have anyone bothering him. Much.

‘So what’s fun to you, then?’ Jeremy asked. He wasn’t asking for the joint back, but was looking at Jean pretty seriously. Jean ignored him, and selfishly took another pull.

‘I don’t know,’ he said. He exhaled slowly, letting the smoke trickle out of the corner of his mouth. It tasted bad, but it was starting to feel good. ‘This is fine.’

‘But what about _fun_?’ Jeremy insisted again, shuffling over towards him. ‘Like, what would make you really happy right now?’

Jean looked at him. The joint was going out between his fingers. 

‘I don’t know,’ he realised. This made him quite uncomfortable, and was not in keeping with the supposed “buzz” he’d heard you get from weed. ‘Fuck off, stop making me think about this.’

Jeremy frowned, and sat back against his own tree. ‘You know, what you said earlier about words not being real violence,’ he said. ‘You don’t think words can hurt?’

Jean suppressed a sigh. ‘I’m sorry I hurt your feelings,’ he said. ‘Here, take this before you start crying.’

Jeremy lit the joint again and was silent for a minute or two, smoking slowly. Jean watched him out of the corner of his eye. Green looked surprisingly good on him. Jean was used to seeing him in just red, really. Which also looked good on him, but different. It was easy to pull off colours when your skin was golden brown. Jean looked unhealthy no matter what colours he chose.

‘I didn’t know that girl from before,’ Jeremy said, abruptly. ‘The Wendy girl. I don’t know who she is.’

Jean frowned. ‘You called out her name.’

‘That’s not - Wendy is the girl character from Peter Pan,’ he explained. 

‘And this is a movie.’

‘Yeah. It was a book, too.’

Jean hesitated, then took the joint back. ‘What is it about?’ 

Jeremy explained, in sentences that gradually grew slower and more ponderous, exactly what the book (and film) of Peter Pan was about. Jean really had difficulty comprehending Tinkerbell - ‘She’s a _what?_ ’ _-_ and Jeremy wound up doubled over, attempting to clap his hands in some form of explanation, and wheezing with laughter. Jean was laughing too. He had absolutely no idea _why_ he was laughing, but right now this moment was the funniest thing in the world to him. 

Eventually they fell silent, lying in the grass side by side, exhausted. After a few minutes of this, Jean asked, ‘What’s the name of the movie again?'. Jeremy laughed until he cried, his voice coming out as hoarse as Jean's. 

The grass tickled Jean’s ears and the back of his neck. It was dry and prickly after a long day of being baked in the hot California air. Jeremy’s head was next to his head, but upside down. 

‘I wish you were this happy all the time,’ Jeremy said. 

Jean tilted his head, wondering if he’d misheard. ‘What?’

‘I mean, I know it’s not your fault,’ Jeremy went on, his voice in slow motion to Jean’s ears. ‘I know you can’t be. But I wish there was something I could do … Just, something that would make you smile more.’

Jean felt too heavy and soft to argue. ‘I’ll try to smile more, then,’ he sighed. ‘For you.’

Jeremy’s arm flopped over on to Jean’s chest, and Jean lifted it with interest. 

‘There’s always glitter on you,’ he mumbled, holding it above his head to inspect. 

‘I’m a glittery guy.’

‘That’s pretty gay.’

‘You say that like it’s a bad thing.’

Jean hiccuped. ‘I should know.’

Jeremy turned his head. Jean turned with him. They were just far enough apart so that he could see more than his chin. 

‘Hiccups,’ Jeremy said. 

Jean nodded, seriously. 

‘I know a cure. Do you want it?’

Jean considered, hiccuped again, and then nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘Say please.’

‘Please.’

‘Please what?’

‘Please …’ Jean frowned. ‘Please what?’

Jeremy giggled. ‘You have to ask me nicely.’

‘Oh, ok. Uhhh ... Oh, please can I have the cure for coughs.’

‘No, it’s hiccups.’

Jean hiccuped again. ‘Oh.’

It was silly, nonsense stuff. Jean’s throat burned from the joint but he didn’t mind. His ribs hurt too, but from laughing, not bruises, so he didn't mind that either.

‘Wait, ok, I’m ready for it,’ he protested, as Jeremy fell back into his hoarse laughter. ‘What’s the cure?’

Jeremy sighed, coughed, and closed his eyes. Right when Jean thought he’d fallen asleep, he turned his head sharply and said, ‘Boo!’

Jean gave a little gasp. ‘What?’

‘That’s the cure. You’re meant to give someone a fright and they …’ Jeremy squinted. ‘Maybe it didn’t work. I might be thinking of something else.’

Jean hiccuped again. ‘I don’t like them,’ he said, calmly.

Jeremy frowned. ‘Looking at you upside down is making me dizzy.’ With a great effort of manoeuvring on his part, Jeremy turned all the way around in the grass like the hand of a clock, until he was right side up for Jean again. Then he rolled over on to his side and poked his nose. ‘That’s better.’

Then he noticed his hand. ‘You got black on me,’ he accused. 

Jean held up his own hands. They were dappled with smeared black paint. It seemed to hold up much better than the white, or it just wasn’t drying in the humidity. He’d left a black handprint on Jeremy’s forearm.

‘That’s appropriate,’ he muttered. ‘I used to have so many of those.’ He reached out and traced his own fingerprints on Jeremy’s skin. ‘Does it hurt?’

Jeremy looked at him in amusement. ‘No, it doesn’t hurt. It’s just paint.’

Jean sighed, letting his arm go again. ‘Good.’

They lay in silence for a little while, Jean still hiccupping every now and again. He thought there was a caterpillar crawling on his hand; then he realised it was just Jeremy’s fingertips. 

‘I didn’t think you’d ever hang out with me like this,’ Jeremy murmured. 

‘Don't get used to it. I’m just here for the booze.’

Jeremy’s fingers paused in their gentle tapping. ‘Did you just say you’re here for the _boos_?’

Jean glanced at him. ‘Did I make a joke?’

Jeremy’s laugh this time was true, and not infected by the drugs. His hand slipped, palm down on the back of Jean’s. Jean turned his own hand over so he could feel it better.

‘Thanks for hiding my cigarettes,’ Jean muttered.

Jeremy’s laugh quietened. ‘I would have given them back if you’d really needed them,’ he said. ‘I felt kind of bad … it wasn’t my place.’

Jean’s fingers brushed Jeremy’s as he contemplated that. ‘It was like … a friend thing,’ he concluded. ‘Right?’

Jeremy turned his head and smiled at him. ‘Yeah, it was.’

Jean looked back at him. ‘That’s ok, then,’ he said. ‘I don’t have any friends.’

‘Sure you do,’ whispered Jeremy, sliding his fingers through the gaps in Jean’s. ‘Renee, and Kevin, and everyone on the team - ’

Jean shook his head. ‘They’re just people I know.' 

Jeremy’s smile had faded. Their buzz was fading fast. Jean missed it as he felt it go.

‘It’s like everyone else got a head start,’ he said, startling himself. This was one of the nasty little thoughts that went whispering through his mind late at night. ‘Everyone else got started, and I got left behind.’

Jeremy squeezed his hand tightly. ‘I know,’ he murmured. ‘I know.’

Jean waited for him to say something about it, but he didn’t. He just kept holding his hand. 

Jean opened his mouth, and more words came out. Things he’d never thought about saying, but had always felt slithering around inside him like snakes, poisoning him. They felt hot and unpleasant in his mouth, but then they were out there and gone, and they didn’t seem so bad anymore. He gave names and words to all that pain and fear, all of those days where he’d felt so locked up inside himself that he couldn’t breathe. His fear, his pain, and every dark thing he’d ever been told about himself, all twisted up into a rope to choke him. It leaked out of him like smoke.

When he finally ran out of words, he felt … lighter, somehow. He’d almost forgotten Jeremy was there, but when he turned to him now he saw his eyes shining back at him.

‘Don’t tell anybody what I said.' The softer words felt clumsy in his mouth.

Jeremy shook his head, slowly. ‘Did you get it all out?’ 

Jean thought about it. Then he added, ‘You were right. I was looking at your legs in those tights. Sorry.’

Jeremy’s grin lit up his face, making the tear track on his cheek shine. 

‘That’s ok,’ he said. ‘I forgive you. I’ll even give you the real cure for hiccups, if you want it.’

Jean hadn’t hiccuped for a few minutes now, but he nodded anyway. 

Their noses bumped together. For a moment Jean thought that was the cure, but then Jeremy pressed his lips to Jean’s. They were soft and dry, largely unremarkable, but the touched fizzed through Jean's veins all the way down to his toes. He thought his hair might be standing on end. 

Eventually, he figured out how to kiss Jeremy back. They lay in the grass, soft and quiet, Jean enjoying another first for him.

When they broke apart, Jeremy’s eyes were all he could see. ‘I’m cured,’ Jean whispered. He almost felt like he could smile, so he gave it a try. 

Jeremy smiled back. ‘Are you sure?’ 

Jean almost insisted that yes, he was. But Jeremy’s smile was infectious, and it helped Jean’s brain catch up.

‘Oh. No,’ he corrected himself. ‘I don’t know if … I mean, maybe you’d better …’ But w ith a sigh of exasperation, he gave up. ‘I’m not high enough for this anymore. Just come here.’

His lips met Jeremy’s smile, sharing in its warmth. Jeremy’s free hand came up to tough Jean’s cheek, leaving glitter in its wake. Jean’s hand shook as he touched Jeremy’s waist. The fabric of his costume was thin, barely there beneath his hand. 

He didn’t know if it was a fluke, or if this was something people did when they smoked and then forgot about it. Jean didn’t know any of the rules. But with the exception of today, Jeremy was usually pretty good at rules. Maybe he would help him, if Jean asked. 

They kissed until Jeremy had to push him off and rub at his mouth, which was red and kind of sore looking. Jean didn’t understand until Jeremy touched the stubble on his cheeks.

‘Think you could shave more often?’ he asked, with a grin.

Jean despaired. ‘I shaved this morning,’ he said. 

Jeremy sighed. ‘Ah well. Maybe if I grow my own it will be like a barrier or something.’ Then he eyed Jean suspiciously. ‘I swear to god if you’re grinning because you think I can’t grow facial hair I’m never kissing you again.’

'I'm not laughing at that,' Jean assured him, though he was. 'This is a new experience for me.' One of many very new, very heady experiences, all happening at once, right on top of each other. 

Jeremy nodded. 'I get that. I'm wearing tights, you know.'

It wasn't entirely a surprise that Jean didn't recognise happiness right away, even when it was all dressed up in green and glitter. Luckily, Jeremy was more than willing to remind him, many times, just how good happiness could feel. Even on Halloween, this non-scary fake bastard holiday. 

And if happiness could be found, even on this day, Jean thought that maybe there might be hope for him on every other day of the year too.

 

 

 


End file.
